City Surgeon, Small Town Miracle. Marion Lennox

stop you getting redder.’

      Before she could protest he tugged off his bloodstained jacket, grabbed the sleeve of his very classy shirt—bought in Italy at the same time as his jacket—and ripped it from the shoulder. He folded the linen into a pad, placed it over her forehead and applied pressure.

      ‘That was a very nice shirt,’ she said, sounding subdued.

      ‘I’ll send you a bill.’

      ‘Do heroes say stuff like that?’

      ‘I believe I just did,’ he said, and grinned, and she managed a smile back. Whoa.

      She was older than he’d thought—and she was a lot more attractive. Compellingly attractive, in fact.

      Her smile was just plain gorgeous.

      ‘I can do that,’ she said, and put her hands up, grabbed his shirt-pad and pressed.

      As well as being attractive, she was also a lot less stupid than he’d first thought, he conceded. She’d talked about raised intracranial pressure. Did she have medical training?

      No matter. She was in no state to practise any medicine right now, and he had no time to concentrate on her smile.

      Her head was okay for the moment. But he stood and looked down at her and thought, There’s more here than scratches. She was trying to make light of her injuries, but he recognised pain when he saw it.

      She’d been limping. One knee of her jeans was shredded and bloodstained, though not nearly as dramatically as her face. Still…

      He bent, carefully took the torn part of the leg of her jeans in both hands and ripped it to the ankle.

      Hell.

      How had she managed to climb down the cliff? How had she stood up at all?

      She’d cut her knee—it was bleeding sluggishly—but that was only part of it. Already it had swollen to almost twice its size. There was a massive haematoma building behind.

      ‘Yikes,’ she whispered, pushing herself up on her elbows to look. ‘Why did you do that? It was better when I couldn’t see.’

      ‘Let’s get it elevated,’ he said, and mentally wished his jacket farewell. He folded it then wedged it under her bloodied knee. A spare tyre had spilled from the cattle crate. He put that under her feet, so her legs were raised on an incline as well.

      She needed X-rays. Both leg and head, he thought. No matter what she said, he wasn’t about to let her die of an intracranial bleed just because she was stubborn. And there was also the biggie. The baby might have suffered a blow, and even if it was okay the impact could cause problems with the placenta. She needed an ultrasound, and bed-rest and observation.

      Her baby needed attention. That meant he needed to hand her over and get away. Fast.

      ‘We need an ambulance,’ he told her, tugging his cellphone from his pocket. ‘You need X-rays.’

      ‘You can give that up as a joke,’ she said wearily. ‘Even if there was reception out here—which there isn’t—you’re looking at Yandilagong’s only ambulance right here.’

      ‘Sorry?’

      ‘It’s not usually the truck. I have a decent-sized estate wagon, only it blew the radiator hose this morning.’

      ‘What are you talking about?’

      ‘My truck’s the local ambulance until I can get a new radiator hose,’ she said patiently, as if talking to someone who wasn’t very bright. ‘And there’s not one to be had locally for love or money. I’ll get one from Gosland tomorrow—if I can leave Gran for that long.’

      ‘There’s no ambulance?’ He didn’t have time for the extra information she was throwing at him. He needed to ignore what wasn’t making sense and concentrate on essentials. ‘Why not?’

      ‘You try attracting medical staff or funding for decent equipment to a place as remote as this,’ she said bitterly. ‘This weekend there’ll be a couple of first-aiders with the music festival, but that’s all the help I have. If I can’t get an ambulance from other areas then I use my own vehicle to take patients to Gosland. That’s our nearest hospital, about an hour away. There’s basic stuff here, like an X-ray machine, but that’s in town, and getting through the crush of the festival isn’t going to happen. But it doesn’t matter,’ she said resolutely. ‘I’d like to check my baby’s heartbeat but I’m sure I’m fine. I just need to get home to Gran. It’s Gran who’s the emergency and she doesn’t need an ambulance. She needs me.’

      Was she some kind of volunteer paramedic? This was sounding crazier and crazier.

      He turned away and surreptitiously checked his phone. Sure enough, no reception. Okay, he conceded. No ambulance.

      ‘What’s your name?’ he asked, trying to figure where to start.

      ‘Maggie. We’re wasting time.’

      ‘How pregnant are you?’

      ‘Thirty-two weeks.’ And all of a sudden there was a quaver in her voice. ‘He’s okay.’

      ‘Can you feel him?’ Even asking that hurt, he thought. Hell, he’d lost his son six years ago. Would he ever get over it?

      Luckily she’d only heard his professional question. ‘Yes.’ But there was still the quaver. ‘He’s kicking.’

      ‘Good.’ Kicking was good. But as Maggie had said, he needed to check the heartbeat. He wanted a stethoscope. Add it to the list, he thought grimly. Ambulance, X-rays, stethoscope, ultrasound, a medical team to take over while he walked away.

      It wasn’t going to happen. Meanwhile, there was the small problem of the mess blocking the road.

      ‘If someone else comes round this bend…’ he said, trying to figure out priorities.

      ‘It’s not used much,’ she told him. ‘But there’s the odd out-of-towner stupid enough to try and get to the highway this way.’

      ‘Gee, thanks.’

      She winced. ‘Sorry. Yes, that was rude. But we do need to clear the road.’ She stared across at the mess. ‘You’ll need help pulling the crate out of the way. Hang on.’ And she put her hands onto the ground to push herself up.

      ‘No!’ He was down beside her in an instant, taking a shoulder in each hand and pressing back.

      And his preconceptions were changing all over the place. At first he’d thought she was little more than a teenager, like the young mothers he saw clustered outside the prenatal clinics near his consulting suite in the hospital he worked in. They were mostly scared kids, forced by pregnancy into growing up too fast, but the more he saw of this woman the more he acknowledged maturity. There were lines etched around her eyes—smile lines that had taken time to grow. And more. Life lines?

      She looked like a woman who’d seen a lot, he thought suddenly.

      She wasn’t beautiful—not in the traditional sense—and yet the eyes that met his as he pushed her back down onto the verge were clear and bright and almost luminous. They were eyes to make a man take another look.

      And then another.

      ‘Hey, let me up,’ she ordered, as if sensing the inappropriate direction his thoughts were taking, and he came to with a snap.

      ‘You want that leg to swell so far I have to lance it to take the pressure off?’

      Her eyes widened. ‘What the…?’

      ‘You’re bleeding into the back of your knee,’ he said. ‘If it gets any worse you’ll have circulation problems. I want it X-rayed. And like you, I’m worrying about the baby. You need an ultrasound.’

      ‘You’re a doctor?’ Her voice was incredulous.

      ‘For